But…now what was she doing? She had her big pocketbook open on the seat beside her and was digging through it and dragging out bottle after bottle of some kind of pills.

He put his hands on the table and laced his fingers together and watched her, watched the slick, shiny red curtain of her hair swing back and forth across her face, catching the light, and tried to think whether he’d ever seen anything in his life before that was exactly that color.

Finally he cleared his throat, shifted around in his seat, and came out with, “I know it’s none of my business, but…”

Her eyes flicked at him like a dog after a fly. “Vitamins,” she explained shortly, and went back to rummaging.

“Ah,” said Jimmy Joe, nodding. He felt unreasonably pleased. And at the same time, bothered by the notion that it did seem to matter to him whether or not this woman he wasn’t ever going to see again after tonight did or did not care about her baby’s well-being. It gave him a case of the restless fidgets, and after watching a moment or two longer, he reached out and snagged one of the bottles. “Vitamin K,” he read off the label. “That’s one I never heard of. What’s it supposed to do?”

“That’s for blood clotting,” she said without looking up from what she was doing, which was making a neat little pile of the pills on the table in front of her. “That’s to prevent excessive bleeding during childbirth.”

Jimmy Joe put the bottle down in a hurry. He hadn’t been present during the actual births of either of his children, through no fault of his own, and there were some images associated with the whole process he preferred not to dwell on.

“How ’bout these?” he asked, poking at some brown pills that looked big enough to choke a goat.

“Those? That’s brewer’s yeast. B vitamins and protein.”

“Uh-huh…and this one here?”

“Let’s see. That’s the antioxidant combo, I think. C, E and-what else? Shoot, I can’t remember-”

“What in blue blazes are anti-what did you call ’em?”

She looked shocked. “I can’t believe you’ve never heard of antioxidants.”

Well, as a matter of fact he had, but he couldn’t recall exactly what it was he’d read or heard about the blamed things, and it seemed as good a topic of conversation as anything he could think of right off the bat. So he shrugged and told her half a lie. “No, ma’am, can’t say’s I have.”

“Okay,” said Mirabella, taking a breath and squaring her shoulders as if it had just become her sacred duty to educate him on the subject. Then she launched herself into a detailed explanation of what antioxidants did, which as far as he could tell involved keeping her cells’ neurons from flying off to look for mates somewhere else. “In other words, oxidizing,” she concluded.

“Oxidizing… Well, now I know what that is,” said Jimmy Joe humbly. “I reckon that’s pretty much the same as rusting, isn’t it?”

To his great surprise and extreme pleasure, she burst out laughing. “Doesn’t seem to be working too well in my case,” she remarked, fingering a strand of hair that had fallen across her face and having to make her eyes go crossed in order to focus on it.

“Well, now, ma‘am, I wouldn’t say that,” Jimmy Joe murmured, studying her somberly. “Looks to me like it’s workin’ just fine.”

He was thinking about what a powerful difference a little thing like laughter could make in the way one person looked at another. For such a beautiful woman to make fun of herself like that, even crossing her eyes… Well for one thing it made him ashamed of himself. Here, just because she had a face that would tie Don Juan up in knots and happened to drive a fancy new car, he’d been judging her to be just another spoiled rich airhead from La-la Land. And hadn’t his mama taught him better than to judge people by their looks? Now he was beginning to see that there might be a lot more to this Mirabella than met the eye. That for starters, she wasn’t just pretty; it was turning out that she was also intelligent, funny and, doggone it, nice.

And that made him wonder all the more what she was doing out here in the middle of New Mexico, pregnant and alone, and why she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. But. he was a Southern boy, and way too well-brought-up to ask.

Chapter 4

“Where’d you say that truck stop is? I’m so hungry I’m chewin‘ on air.”


I-40-New Mexico

The bowlful of steaming chicken-noodle soup the waitress set in front of Mirabella looked good and smelled even better. Even so, she sat regarding it without enthusiasm until Jimmy Joe picked up her spoon and held it out to her and said, “Eat,” in a tone that brooked no argument. Then with a sigh she took the spoon from him, plunged it into the bowl, lifted it laden with noodles and dripping broth, and blew on it, more to forestall the moment when she would have to put it in her mouth than because it actually needed cooling.

Jimmy Joe, who wasn’t fooled, said, “Come on, quit stalling.” Mirabella took a deep breath.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t hungry. That is, her stomach felt hungry-she just didn’t seem to have any desire for food. Which was a state of affairs she would normally have relished, having spent most of her life fighting the inescapable effects of a disgustingly healthy and indiscriminating appetite. But the truth was, she simply felt too awful to eat., She was so tired. And she had such a backache. Plus, she was worried about the weather, and feeling emotionally vulnerable about Christmas, just the thought of which made her throat constrict like a too-tight collar. And as if that wasn’t enough, there was, the distracting and disturbing presence of Jimmy Joe Starr.

As hard as she tried to ignore it, as determined as she was not to acknowledge it, to look somewhere else-anywhere else-and pretend a nonchalance she didn’t in the least feel, she was acutely aware of him. She knew he was studying her, though trying his best not to be obvious and rude about it; watching her when he thought it was safe with a puzzled intensity she couldn’t quite fathom. Why is he looking at me like that? she kept wondering. As if he had a question that was burning a hole in his tongue. If there’s something he wants to know about me, she thought irritably, why doesn’t he just ask? Or is he just too damn polite?

That was it. It had to be. He was so young, he probably hadn’t had much experience with pregnant women, so naturally, Mirabella told herself, he would be curious. But it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you could just ask a stranger about-not without being rude-and if there was anything in the world this guy was, besides cute and young, it was polite.

Thinking about the man-boy, really-in those terms, while being careful not to actually look at him, Mirabella began to feel gratifyingly mature and maternal. Her confidence growing, she lifted her lashes, found Jimmy Joe’s nice brown eyes and smiled.

And just like that, all the maternal feeling she’d managed to conjure up went right out the window, along with most of the maturity and confidence.

Oh, Lord, she thought, what does this mean? The particular intensity in that warm-as-mink gaze couldn’t possibly be what it appeared to be. Of course not. Oh, no.

The truth was, one of the few things in life Mirabella had never learned how to handle was male admiration. Other than in a business context, of course; appreciation of her talent and capabilities from the male-dominated world she worked in was something she not only welcomed, but considered no more than her due. But let the soft glow of admiration in a man’s eyes flare into something more personal, more primitive-like lust, say-and her instant reaction was apt to be, “Who, me? What, is he nuts?”

Catching a glimpse of something of the sort in Jimmy Joe’s eyes, her first reaction was shock: My God, how can he? I look like a whale! That was closely followed by dismay: What can he be thinking of? After that came disappointment. She concluded sadly that he must be one of those men she’d heard about who actually found pregnant women sexy. Which she considered truly disgusting.

Thoroughly unnerved, compelled almost against her will to be sure, Mirabella braced herself, then stole another look. This one was more covert than the first, slanted upward through her lashes as she dipped her head to meet the laden spoon. But now the heavy-lidded gaze she encountered held nothing more than patient amusement.

“Eat,” said Jimmy Joe sternly, tapping the tabletop with a forefinger.

Okay, I was wrong, she thought. Oh, thank God Giddy with relief, she feigned resentment. “I’m eating. I’m eating, already. You don’t have to watch me, you know.”

“Yeah, I do,” said Jimmy Joe. But his tone was teasing, and his smile wry.

Relaxing, Mirabella tossed back the wing of hair she’d been hiding behind and smiled across the table in a friendlier way. “Seriously-I don’t need a baby-sitter. I know I intruded on whatever it was you were doing-making a phone call, weren’t you?-so why don’t you just go on, pretend I’m not here. I won’t listen, I promise.” Go ahead, she thought, pretending she didn’t in the least care, call your…girlfriend? Wife?

He scooted back the sleeve of his sweatshirt in order to look at his watch, then shrugged and gave her a regretful little smile. “Ah, I was just tryin’ to get ahold of my son, is all. Past his bedtime back there now, though. I’ll catch him in the mornin’.”

“You have a son?” For some reason, that jolted Mirabella, and she halted her spoon in surprise. It wasn’t that he didn’t look old enough; how old, after all, did a guy have to be to make a baby? But she’d just finished convincing herself that he was only a boy himself so she could feel comfortable with him, and now fatherhood made that image somewhat difficult to maintain.